


The Interim

by damngayboys



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Kid Tony Stark, Loneliness, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad, Sorta? He's 16 so., Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, Underage Drinking, What Was I Thinking?, and the cat will probably be named Mr.Cat, drunk tony will probably get a cat at some point, just sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damngayboys/pseuds/damngayboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> Of course. He got stuck with the soulmate that didn't have enough sense to stay alive. </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Whole New Brand Of Bullshit.

**Author's Note:**

> This story details about 5 years of Tony's life as he gets over finding out Steve is dead. It will not have a happy ending, but it will (probably) be set up for a sequel that most definitely will (maybe will not actually, I have evil ideas)

Tony is pissed when it appears. His birthday party shuts down and he locks Howard out of his own workshop so he can go angrily screw around with electronics, because of all people, his soulmate is **Captain** _fucking_ **America.**

And that's just a whole new brand of bullshit. After everything his father put him through, after boarding school, after losing Jarvis (who might as well have been his father), he doesn't even get a soulmate that had enough sense to stay alive. The only thing that comforts him slightly is that Steve never would've gotten a name, that he would've gone through life without it, and that had to be hell (not as much hell as your soulmate being gone, because at least he would've had hope that one day he would wake up and his name would be there). 

Immediately after that thought passes his head, he's washed over with a flood of guilt for enjoying the thought of his soulmate in pain. Despite how much he'd've liked to be a heartless ass at that moment, he just doesn't have that in him. 

Over time, however, he manages to cultivate a special personality of cut-off, emotionally dead party boy whose one true talent was pumping out weapons and new advances in technology like no one else ever could. That takes a long time, and in the interim between his 16th birthday and his total emotional shut off, a lot happens. 


	2. Alright, Blondie.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing literally no one whose going through what he is, Tony takes out his anger on Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration literally just smacked me as I bought cheetos, so I apologize if it's kinda wonky before I get settled into a writing style. There's going to be more character on character interaction after this chapter, but every chapter will definitely have a letter in it. 
> 
> In this chapter's letter, 'you' is going to refer to both Steve and the general idea of his soulmate.

Sometime between getting down the basic plans for a robot assistant that could fetch tools and parts in the workshop and simply lying down on the bench and screaming at the cieling, Tony got it into his head that writing a letter to Steve would be a good idea. This mainly happened because screaming and crying at Rhodey on the phone wasn't doing him much good, and there was no one else he could think of that even had a chance of comforting him. The letter he wrote goes as follows:

 

Alright, Blondie.

I don't know exactly what you were thinking when you decided to turn yourself into the worlds most patriotic popsicle, but I know you weren't thinking about me. There is physically no way you were considering me, unless you're a really sick fuck that thought condemning your soulmate to a life without you  ~~without little kisses and cuddles and without having someone to keep the nightmares away when things get bad do you even understand how much I need you here this was supposed to be the best day of my life~~  was actually a good idea.

Not a lot of people know this, but I've always really been in love with the idea of meeting you (my soulmate, not you specifically) . Everyone assumes I'm heartless and emotionally stunted, just like my dad  ~~that's not really his fault anyway, much as I'd like to pretend it is, he's not the one that shot my mom, just the one who designed the gun that did it,~~ but that's never been true, and I've been waiting so long to know you, and now I never will, and that's just not fair.

I won't get to tell you this in person, so here it is. I would've loved you. Capsicle, national icon, scrawny kid from Brooklyn, all of that aside. I just know, that I would've loved you. I kinda still do anyway. 

-The soulmate you abandoned,   
Anthony Edward Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! I'll be bringing Peggy into one of the upcoming chapters, and some of Howard being a good parent for once, so that should be fun.


	3. Stevie and Tones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. There will be minimal character on character interaction because I just don't want the stress of writing that.  
> Thank yall for the comments, bookmarking and kudosing, it's absolutely lovely and has me really excited to write.

Almost two months after his birthday, Edwin Jarvis pulls Tony out of one of his lessons with the promise of lunch and meeting someone he used to call 'Aunty Peggy'. It's when meeting her that he learns about Steve beyond his father's tales (that was the one subject Howard was always open to talking about) and the stories of 'the Star Spangled Man' that everyone knew. It's immediately after that he sort of crumbles, wishing desperately that he could've spent just one night in Steve's arms, because he just _knows_ that somehow, someway, the blonde would've managed to make everything better, if only for a few hours. He writes another letter that night, and immediately locks it away with the other one, as if to shame the tear-stains and emotional babbling. The letter he wrote goes roughly along these lines, though it's hard to tell with the ink smears and tear drops.

Dear Stevie:

I get this impression that I would've called you Stevie, and reached up to tussle your hair a lot if only to get that little, fond smile I see in all of your pictures with the Howling Commandos. Peggy told me a lot about you, which I'm not sure if I appreciate. I wanted to hear all of those things from you, in your words, in your voice (not that stupid Captain America rough-tough voice you put on in everything but your actual voice), and it hurts that I can't, but I'm kind of glad I heard them from someone, at the very least. I'm doing my best to stay together with this letter, I'm really not as much as a wreck as the last one makes it seem I just  _really wanted to kiss you_ and now I can't and I think that sucks in a lot of ways no one around me seems to understand.

This hasn't happened to anyone else that I can find. No one gets a name of someone that died. I think that means you really weren't supposed to go into the ocean, and that the serum would've kept you at a decent body-age so us being together would've been acceptable, and most importantly that you're such a self sacrificing hero that even the powers that be who assign soulmates couldn't even predict that you would do something like dunking yourself into the arctic and accidentally abandoning your match. That only makes me wish I could've met you even more, because you seem so amazing that it would be a little bit impossible.

The situation would've been a little strange between us if you were alive. Better, but strange. I've been thinking about it, and how awkward would it have been to show up on your friend's doorstep to pick up his  _son_ for a  _date?_ And the slang clash would've been a little weird too, because I use words like bunk and you would've used words like swell. Trying to define it all for eachother would probably have just made things tense, because I really don't like the thought that my soulmate would've been 60 years older then me and that would've been one big reminder about it all. 

This whole letter writing situation is kind of weird. I feel like one of those people who go yell at a gravestone for hours on end before they can go through the whole healing process, but I don't even have a gravestone to yell at because the one they put up for you is kind of a really public thing and there are people who go by and thank you for everything you did almost every day, and I don't think they would appreciate a 16 year old kid crying and screaming at it. My dad wouldn't let me anyway, because 'I'm a too well known face and it would look bad for the company'. 

He's always doing that. Going on about how 'I could ruin the company' or 'it would make SI look bad.' Which is ridiculous, because the country loves me (why wouldn't they? I'm Howard Stark's son, and I'm upstaging him in everything from education, skills, and looks) and even if I did do something stupid, they would probably just laugh about it and chalk it up to my teenage rebellion. If I was going to have a teenage rebellion, I probably should've done it when I was 10, because now I'm almost graduating college and I think I'm expected to take over the company in a little bit.

Maybe there's still time. I'd love to see his face if I came home dressed like one of the ash people. That would've been even better when I was 10, actually. Imagine that, he comes back from one of those confrences to find his 10 year old runnning around in all black with a mohawk. 

I really don't know how I got to that. My writing professor is always complaining about me not staying organized and rambling on iin my writing, but I can't really help it. I think that might be for the better. The more I talk, the more likelihood there is for me to conjure up a beautiful mental image like that one. All things considered, I should probably cut my losses and just stop writing right now, but I don't think I'm reay to do that yet. When I'm writing these, I feel so much closer to you. I get this image in my head of us, and it's tangible and I feel a little like I could reach out and pull it towards me, get closer to having that, but at the same time I feel this horrible wall of hurt and bricks and alone crushing me back and keeping me away from having that. 

  ~~What makes it all even worse is that the further I get from having you, I only want you more and more. Every minute is only another minute you're not here and another I wish you were.~~

This isn't making it any better now...Bye.   
Tony (I think you would've called me Tones, to get back at me for calling you Stevie. I would've liked that.)

  


	4. I'm Gonna Go Get A Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One sided conversations can only last so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on this story and my goals for it will be posted on my tumblr, aninternetconnection, if you're interested! This is a very short chapter, though I like to think it's going to be very important in the grand scheme of things. It's also important to mention that this chapter will likely go under a small revamp once I'm healthy and in a better mood.

Tony didn't write another letter for weeks after meeting Peggy. He didn't do much of anything after meeting Peggy, opting to stay in his room and work on his technology. Technology was easier than people, in his eyes. Technology didn't give him sad little glances and pitiful smiles. It was on his third week locked in his room that he broke, a pulling need in his gut to talk to Steve, have him, or, in his case, write to him. That letter was a little more composed, tear mark free and on lined paper instead of blueprint paper. In the end, it came out like this.

 

Stevie,

I'm something of a mess. It's hard to remember that I can be happy without you, which is ridiculous, because I was for years, and I shouldn't be so dependent on a relationship that never even started, but I can't help it. I was always promised that special someone. The person who would care about me, and  _want_ to spend time with me, maybe out of obligation, I don't care. A therapist would swear I have daddy issues to the extreme, and that's what's making this all feel so bad. I don't like the idea that they'd probably be right. 

I don't know what else to say. One sided conversations can only last so long, there's only so much I can tell you before I'm reminded that you'll never say anything back and I really can't keep putting myself through this. I think I'm done, for now. I'm gonna go get a drink. Never had one, but they're supposed to numb everything, right? Make it all go away for a little while?  

 ~~Tones~~ Tony


	5. Denial, Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about how long this took, I just lost interest for a while. Had to step back and reevaluate my writing a while later.

Time flies by before Tony even considers Steve again, too busy with his personal tornado of alcohol, parties, and school (he was never going to stop focusing on that, unlike so many people that lost themselves to drinking and drugs and whatever else they got up to in college. He had a legacy to uphold, and frankly, he was too much of a genius to be okay with being judged and shoved aside like a strung out rehab bound idiot.) It's only when Rhodey, his favorite person and roommate, finds his match, that Tony hits the edge again and turns to his own longgone would've been sweetheart.

Stev ~~i~~ e;

Sorry it's been so long, I guess. Everything felt okay for a while, and I shouldn't feel so guilty for being okay without you. I really shouldn't, because you're  _gone_ and I don't even know you, and that's ridiculous, right? I shouldn't be so damn guilty over just being okay, especially when I don't think I'm really okay anyway. 

I have this theory, you know. No one else has a soulmate who was dead before they got their name because it's physically impossible. The universe shifts a bit and accomodates and everyone gets the name of someone that'll be alive long enough for them to meet them. That only seems logical, right? We have records of decades of soulmatches and I'm the first this happened to. The thing about this theory is that it means you're still alive, and out there somewhere.  ~~I'm so damn pathetic, you're not out there, are you. This is all just me being in fucking denial. Still, maybe...~~

That kind of thinking is really dangerous. There's no way you actually are alive. You would've frozen to death or been spotted by now, serum aside. If I give myself hope, I'm going to start hoping. I've been reading up on loss and grief, and I have a few friends majoring in that kind of stuff, and it doesn't look good for me if I fall into that kind of a trap. You're not coming back. You're not coming back. I'll make it a mantra or something. You're not coming back. I shouldn't care. You're not coming back. I shouldn't care. You're not coming back. I shouldn't care. ~~God dammit Steve come back to me.~~ You're not coming back. I shouldn't care. You're not coming back. I shouldn't care. You're not coming back. ~~I need you back, please, just~~   I shouldn't care. 

Wonder if I could get a tattoo over your name. Make it part of something beautiful, something that doesn't feel like a knife to the heart everytime I roll up my sleeves to get some work done. Maybe I'll just get a black line over it, cover it up. The media doesn't know yet, I don't think, and it seems better that I don't let them know. I don't need the entire damn world pitying me.

I think I'd actually prefer it the way it is right now to being pitied. They call me a playboy ~~haven't been able to kiss anyone without thinking of you, not since my birthday, and that's probably a record for a Stark~~ and they talk about me drinking- I think I'm becoming some sort of anti-role model. But they still love me, which is saying something. Guess I've just got the look for it. Really, who doesn't love me?

Rhodey would probably raise his hand. Have I told you about Rhodey? Maybe not. He's my best friend, we're roommates. He's a solid few years older than me, but I'm used to that. Pretty much all of my friends are older than me, which is only fair, considering. There aren't a lot of sixteen year olds hanging out at MIT, and there aren't a lot of kids my age who can put up with me ~~if I'm not buying them crap~~ even if there were. Anyway, Rhodey just found his match, which is great for him. I mean, she's an absolutely beautiful woman, and she deserves him and vice versa. I just don't really like the reminder, which isn't his fault, and I can't blame him for that. 

I'm rambling again, aren't I. 

\- ~~Tones~~  Tony

 


	6. Tony Stark: Professional Rambler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about how long this took! I'm trying to get writing back to being a major part of my life, and in the time between this chapter and the next, feel free to send my tumblr some prompts and stuff! aninternetconnection.tumblr.com

Rogers. 

I want to hate you so much. I miss being angry at you. I miss wanting to slap you, as hard as I could, and I miss believing that there was something I could have done to at least  _deserve_ this hell. If I had to lose you, couldn't there have been a reason? I miss having someone to hate. 

Even when I was angry at you, it was only ever in bursts. I could only hate you in chunks, too much of me wanted to love you, 

too much of me wants to love you, Steve, how much of you wanted to love me? 

Did the hope make this better or worse for you? I'll never have hope, but at least I had someone to be angry at. You had all the hope in the world but with no one to gbe angry at when you came back empty handed. You couldn't have blamed me for not being born, it was never in my hands. Maybe I _shouldn't_ blame you for not being here, maybe I should be more understanding or some crap, but at least I can yell at you when I need to. No one will blame a 16 year old for being irrational, it's practically an essential part to being young.  I like to think you had it better because of your hope. 

It's like coming home after a long day. A thousand bad things could've happened to you, and you'd have no one to blame, but at least you would've come home to the hope of coming home to me one day. Me? I can blame you. I can get angry and throw all my hurt at you. But I'll never come home to you. I'll only come home to an empty house, holding you will never be an option for me. 

I'm getting too damn sentimental, aren't I? You wouldn't want me like this, a blubbering mess. And you would never want this letter, even without the blood and crap on it. I should- should probaly explain the blood. I was having a few drinks and I was getting a little dizzy and it's not like it was my fault or somethin', I think someone slipped some shit in there before Rhodey came and got me, but I was still really dizzy and I dropped my bottle and cut my hands all up trying to clean it up and crap. 

 I know, I know. I should be taking better care of myself, yada yada. I've got a long future ahead of me to consider, blah blah blah, there's so much in store but I have to be careful, la la la la la. Doesn't matter. Howard doesn't care. Rhodey is off soulmating it up. You're gone. It's not like there's someone waiting for me for me to come home and tell them about my day. There's not even someone out there that  _cares_ about how my day went. 

 

 

Sorry about the mess up there. I guess I got a little emotional or some crap, had some trouble stringing it all together and stuff. Life would be so much easier if it were like engineering. Nothing in the way but basic rules, this works and this doesn't, one gear turns and the interlocked will go instantly. That I can do. That I can handle. I've never been good at this stuff, too much I don't understand. It's like- 

The stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Except they don't always go in that order, and you can go skipping back and forth and stuff, so how do you know if you should be feeling what you're feeling and if it's okay for you to be feeling that, or you're feeling all the wrong things and secretly you're really fuckedd up, and you just don't  _know_ it yet because you think you're just going back in the process and that that's normal and okay as long as eventually you keep moving forward? But you'll never really go forward because you're messed up or something and you're just trapped and you're never getting out of this horrible depression or you'll always think that somehow you can fix things, that if you're just rich enough or smart enough or kind enough or sad enough, they'll come back? 

What if you never get over the fact that things will never be okay, you'll never  _have_ that, no matter what you do? Is your entire life just this one big mashup of angry mood swings and depression, or do you eventually just go numb to it all? And is that acceptance, going numb? It's gotta be at least psuedo acceptance, right? Theoretically acceptance of grief is no longer hurting over it, so if you go numb, you kinda accepted it, right? 

What if you never go numb? 

It's all too damn confusing, Steve. Just thinking about this all has me getting teary again, and I thought I was past that- I only sat down to write because I thought I would be okay and not cry, you deserve nice letters, not the stained smeary ink ramblings of a stupid kid. 

Nice letters, nice letters...

Christmas is coming up. I'm going back to the mansion. Howard is going to...somewhere, to have fondue. He was kinda hard to understand.  I called him up to find out if  ~~we were going to pretend that he would be around for once and then have me be let down or if he stopped caring enough to even pretend~~ he was going to be home for the holidays or not, and he was crying a bit and mumbling about fondue. Don't think I'd ever heard him cry before that. I know he did, after losing Maria, but I was at boarding school and it was Jarvis who called and told me, not Howard. So...Christmas, y'know. Trees. Blueprint themed Christmas paper, cause Rhodey bought like 20 rolls of the stuff. I'll try to build the two of them something nice. I think it would make Rhodey happy, he's been really worried about me lately. He'd probably like to see    me embrace both of them, know that he's not just  _my_ Rhodey anymore and that now it's 'Rhodey plus One' and me. I gotta find someone to be mine for a little while, before their match shows up and then I'll go and find someone else. I'll be able to upstage everyone at therapy groups for losing your soulmate. 'You and Martha Jean spent 12 years together both you lost her? 'Steve disappeared before I was even born!' Suck on my misery, you lonely wrinkly old man!

I'm getting someone to design me a tattoo. I was thinking about doing some kind of a tribute to you or something, but less in my face. If the sketches for it don't come back looking good, I'll just get a black band over it like I talked about before. It would be a lot less risky, and a lot less emotional for me. Or would it be worse? I don't like the thought of just whiting out your existence. You didn't get to be an actual part of my life, but you're sorta worth more than just a small black band. You're something to me, as much as I hate it. 

I created a robot! That was cool, y'know? I guess you wouldn't appreciate my techy jargon, but all you really need to know is that he's really cool, and he's supposed to be a lab assistant, but he's not working too well in that department. He's got the basic stuff, like pick up and bring, and I even taught him how to put out fires, but that had me a little worried. If he's picking up knowledge and stuff, he's slowly creating some semblance of a personality, and any changes I make to his code might destroy that, which sounds like a really sick thing to do. 

If you didn't want to listen to all of my ramblings, here's a summary. Emotions, emotions, Christmas, tattoo, robot. 

Tony. 

PS: Rhodey's match taught me how to bake these really good cookies. I think I could get used to her, with a little time. She's sorta really nice, even though she is a psych major and got Rhodey all worried for me. I guess that was sorta nice, too, caring about me. Misguided, though, and I'm not sure she's going to be very good at her job now. I don't need professional help, all I need is to work on my own time to get my self together. 

PPS: How are you? I never asked. It feels a little bit silly, cause I won't get a reply, but I worry sometimes that you're out there and in some Nazi engineered personal hell or something. 


End file.
